A Villain Named

She looked at me with a triumphant smile. "Apologize? Why should I? Tell me, what part of what I said wasn't true?"

As she spoke, she casually picked up a bottle of cold cola beside her.

"Oops! It's so hot, my hand slipped." She gave an exaggerated gasp and tipped the bottle in a deliberate arc. Cola drenched my white jacket from shoulder to hem, staining it instantly.

"Oh no, Mallory, I'm so sorry," she said, stepping closer with fake concern. "I didn't mean it. Look how dirty it is. Let me help you take it off and wash it."

Seeing her fingernails about to brush the neckline of my jacket, I refused to tolerate it further. I lifted my foot and drove it into her stomach.

Louisa let out a shriek, doubling over as she crashed to the ground. She clutched her stomach and wailed, "Help! Mallory hit me! "

A roar came from not far away. "What's going on over there?"

The drill instructor ran over.

He saw Louisa writhing on the ground, glanced at me once, and pointed without asking a single question. "Mallory Leighton! Assaulting a classmate and disrupting formation? Twenty laps. Now!"

I didn't move.

He was seconds from exploding when the student counselor rushed over and whispered into his ear.

The instructor's face shifted through several emotions before settling into reluctant restraint. He shot me a hard glare and waved me back into line, but that was only the beginning.

…

Two days later, the entire department held a general assembly. I was ordered onstage to make a public apology for "unprovoked assault".

I stood there without saying a word while thousands of eyes bore into me from below. Louisa, as the "victim," stepped up beside me and took the microphone. She bowed deeply before tears started rolling down her cheeks.

"Good afternoon, everyone. I come from a small mountain village, and I'm the first in my family to attend college. My parents always told me to be kind and get along with my classmates… but I don't know what I did wrong."

Her voice cracked. "My roommate, Mallory Leighton… everything she uses is incredibly expensive. A washbasin, a bottle of skincare—each one could be a year of my family's savings. I was curious and wanted to take a look, but she slapped me.

"She threw a face cream worth tens of thousands into the trash, and when I told her not to waste it, she accused me of humiliating her. During orientation camp, I accidentally spilled some soda on her jacket that cost tens of thousands, and she kicked me in the stomach."

A wave of shocked gasps spread across the hall.

"Oh my God, that's insane."

"She thinks money makes her invincible."

"How did someone like her even get into our school?"

"Poor Louisa… getting out of the mountains is hard enough without being bullied."

…

By the time she finished, I had officially become the campus villain.

That night, a pinned and trending post shot to the top of the school forum—'Expose Finance Freshman Mallory Leighton and Her Bald Middle-Aged Sugar Daddy.'

The anonymous thread claimed I was being kept by a fifty-year-old man. My silver basin was labeled a fetish prop. My skincare was "payment". The jacket was a "bonus after exercise".

It even included a blurry photo of me outside the dorm, taken secretly. And the tone—there was only one person who would write something like that: Louisa.

When I returned to the dorm, Louisa looked up with a mocking grin. "Well, look who's here. Our celebrity."

I shoved my phone screen in front of her. "You did this. Delete the post. Delete the messages. Apologize."

She burst into shrill laughter. "So what if I did? Got proof? What's wrong? Afraid your sugar daddy will find out? Go call him. Let him deal with me. Oh wait… you won't. All you can do is bully a poor student like me."

Then, she cranked her phone volume to maximum and blasted a playlist of gold-digger anthems.

"Oh, she's a gold digger, way over town that digs on me…"

She sang along, eyes glittering with provocation. Our other roommate put on headphones and pretended to disappear.

I didn't respond. I simply opened the recording app.

Birthday Box Raided

I recorded every second of Louisa's ranting—the taunts, the singing, all of it.

Right as she was getting louder, a video call from my mom popped up. I answered.

"Mal, happy birthday! I sent you a big package. Did you get it?" My mom's gentle voice flowed through the speaker.

Louisa's singing froze instantly.

I smiled at the screen. "Not yet, Mom. It should arrive soon."

"Good. Your birthday gift is in there, and some snacks too. Share them with your roommates, alright?" She added softly, "Be good while you're away from home. Get along with your classmates."

I gave a quiet hum and hung up, and Louisa immediately snorted. "Keep pretending. Mom? Really? Bet that was your sugar daddy!"

She was just about to start blasting music again when someone knocked on the door. A deliveryman stood outside holding a box nearly half his height. "Package for Mallory Leighton."

Louisa's eyes lit up. Before I could react, she rushed forward and snatched the box from his arms. "I'll take it for her."

With that, she bolted down the stairs.

"Stop right there!" My expression turned grim, and I sprinted after her.

Downstairs, she dumped the huge box onto the ground. Rage lit through me. I rushed forward to take it back, but she shoved me aside, then pulled out a mini megaphone from her pocket.

She turned it on and shouted, "Come one, come all! Mallory, our lovely sugar baby, finally felt guilty! She's sharing her sugar daddy's gifts with everyone. Don't miss out!"

Her shouting drew students from every direction. Within moments, a crowd had formed.

Louisa sliced the box open and flung out handfuls of beautifully wrapped chocolates like confetti. "Taste the sweetness of rich men's love!"

People squealed, laughed, and scrambled to grab whatever they could.

My eyes burned. My mom had made all of those by hand.

Next came skincare gift sets. Louisa tossed them carelessly. "No clue what brand this is. Use it on your heels or something."

The crowd grew rowdier, nearly breaking into fights over a single box. I was trapped behind a few girls who were watching the spectacle, unable to move as everything spiraled out of control.

And then she pulled out a neatly folded cream-colored scarf from the bottom of the box. My mom had knit it herself—her first attempt at cashmere—and embroidered my initials on the edge.

"Ha! This ugly thing's worthless." She flicked it to the ground.

A boy picked it up, shook it open, and spread it across the stone steps. Then, he sat on it. "Soft enough. Good cushion."

I couldn't hold back anymore. I shoved past the girls blocking me and rushed forward. "Give it back."

The boy stared at me blankly. "Who are you? She didn't want it."

I reached for the scarf, but Louisa yanked me back. She and a few other onlookers boxed me in.

"What's wrong, Mallory?" she purred. "Feeling sentimental? I thought you were rich. Why cry over cheap junk?"

She reached back into the box and pulled out a limited-edition handbag—my birthday gift, the one my mom had asked a friend in Lutetia to buy for me.

She dropped it on the ground and stomped on it with her mud-speckled sneakers.

Once. Twice. Three times.

Fresh leather turned into dirt-streaked scars.

Still unsatisfied, she gave the six-figure handbag a hard kick and sent it skidding to my feet like a piece of trash. "There. I cleaned up this filthy trash for you. No need to thank me."

Then she jabbed a finger at me and shouted loud enough for everyone to hear. "See that? That's what happens to gold-digging girls like her!"

Laughter and jeers burst from the crowd.

"Serves her right."

"Seriously, girls like that deserve it."

I lowered my head and stared at the disaster around me—the mess scattered across the ground, the scarf now used as a cushion, the purse stomped out of shape.

Then, I took out my phone and dialed a number.